


Puppies and Programming

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AI Peter, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing sentience, Due to non humanity, Enthusiastic consent later on, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Science, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex and Circuitry, i guess?, personal support bots, peter is a robot, robot owner Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Stiles is rich, successful, and lonely.Buying a Halebot Personal Support Bot seems like a great idea.  A human-like robot that can read and respond to his desires and is perfectly sexually compatible, and doubles as a bodyguard?  Sign him the fuck up.And it's perfect, at first. But then the P3Tr develops a glitch.Feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is absolutely the fault of Twisted_Mind, who sent me [This gifset](https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/post/181914239831/twothumbsandnostakeincanon-bunnywest) with a note about how the plaid on Stiles's cardigan was from he and Peter having some sort of fashion war.  
> And of course, my brain went "Oooor, maybe Peter's his sexbot who's developed feelings and is randomly sewing plaid patches onto his clothing in an attempt to make Stiles happy, because Peter's developed a fault - and that fault is sentience and affection for his owner."  
> And welp. Here we are. Wish me luck, I have no idea how this is gonna go, it's going to be a quick and dirty write, hopefully a short chapter each day, because damn, this thing won't leave my brain alone till I get it written down!

 

 

“The P3Tr is one of our newest models. Fully human emulating, with personality levels set to your preferences. Some people like to keep their bots fairly docile, others tend toward the more spirited.”

“I want it as human as possible” Stiles says decisively. “Why spring for a Halebot if you don’t use all the bells and whistles, right?”

“Excellent logic, Sir. The model is self lubricating of course, although that can be dialed back if you prefer a more authentic experience or to do manual prep, and of course we can program simulated pain responses if you wanted that.”

“Oh Jesus no! Why the fuck would anyone want that?”

The salesman arches a brow. “I would never judge the choices my customers make. And better a bot than someone unwilling.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He swallows nervously and reminds himself that the salesperson has just _literally_ said he doesn’t judge the choices his customers make. “Actually, I was wondering if it can...” Stiles licks his lips, unable to continue the sentence.

The man gives him a knowing look. “Once we code it to your biometrics, your tastes are the bot’s tastes. It’s fully capable of filling your..... needs.”

Stiles flushes beet red. “So it’ll ... um...”

“Yes. Fully functional as a top, complete with ejaculate if you want it, although that function can also be disabled.”

Stiles reflects briefly on the irony that buying a sex robot is probably the unsexiest thing he’s ever done. He steeples his fingers in front of his face, taking a second to ask himself if this is what he really wants, before he nods.“Okay. I’m in. What happens now?”

The salesman smiles warmly. “We’ll get your preferences on file, and the bot will be ready and customized to your needs in four to six weeks. Congratulations on your purchase, Sir. You won’t regret it.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he takes delivery of the P3Tr, Stiles is shocked at how realistic it looks. They’ve made the model to his exact specifications, and even at first glance he can see it was worth the ridiculous amount of money he’s paid. He lets his eyes rove over the naked, muscled body standing still and silent in front of him.  It’s mouthwatering.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters to himself. “Just, Holy fuck.”

He _knew_ the Halebot Corporation was the way to go- this knocks Scott’s Argentcorp LE-sen model into a cocked hat. The bot is… perfect.  Stiles knows that once he presses the discreet switch hiding under the skin of the bot's left armpit to activate it, it’ll be hard to tell it isn’t real. The only indication at all is the tiny tattoo across its left hipbone with a _1800_ number and the words C **all Halecorp for immediate recall and disposal in event of a major malfunction.**

Stiles wonders for a split second if getting the tattoo hurt, before he catches himself. Of course it didn’t hurt. It’s a thing. It doesn’t feel.

His biometrics have been scanned in and his preferences entered, after an extensive process where he talked about his likes and dislikes while wearing a headpiece crammed full of sensors and filling out possibly the longest and most embarrassing questionnaire of his life. ( Stiles has had to google half the shit on there, and he’s honestly seen some things he can’t unsee, okay?) Theoretically, once he activates the bot, he’ll have a perfectly compatible sexual partner. He’s not sure why he hesitates to flick the switch.

Maybe it’s Schrodinger’s robot, he reflects. As long as it’s switched off, he can believe it will work. Stiles doesn’t hesitate for long, though. He didn’t pay ninety-five grand for a glorified coat rack, after all. He takes a deep breath and hits the switch. The bot’s eyelids flutter open, revealing gorgeous blue eyes, and Stiles can see the moment awareness floods them. The AI looks him up and down, gives a tiny smirk, and says “You must be Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

 The bot’s very, very good at what it was made for. By the time two hours have passed, Stiles is wrecked. The bot had started by backing him up against a wall, prowling forwards slow and relentless, and then held him in place with a passionate kiss. Everything after that had been just the way he’d always dreamed of, the bot fucking him hard and fast, reading his body’s signals flawlessly and wringing orgasm after orgasm from him until Stiles had been spent. He’s left laying in a puddle of his own jizz, leaking what ever it is that the P3T produces, unable to wipe the smile off his face. The P3T is laying next to him, wearing what Stiles has discovered is it’s default expression - a tiny, satisfied smirk.  Stile nudges at it. “You need a name. I can’t keep calling you P3T, it’s a pain in my ass.” He considers for a moment. “You’re Peter.”

“As you wish,” Peter responds, making Stiles grin. He hadn’t been able to resist adding that as the bot’s default response phrase – he’s always loved The Princess Bride. He sighs happily.  

He nudges at Peter again. “So, firstly, that was amazing. But now, you just need to let me kinda sprawl all over you, okay? I’m a natural born cuddler.”

He could swear Peter sounds amused when he replies, “As you wish,” and effortlessly hauls Stiles across the bed and arranges them so that Stiles is draped over the bot, strong arms circling him. Stiles falls asleep listening to the steady simulated _thump thump thump_ of Peter’s heartbeat. It’s almost as good as the real thing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Stiles sleeps through the night. When he wakes, the Peter’s standing in front of him, still naked, holding a tray. “Breakfast,” it says.

Stiles sits up, revelling in the dull ache in his ass from being so thoroughly fucked the night before, and examines the tray. There’s a delicious looking omelette, a glass of orange juice, and coffee. “Thanks, dude. Perfect.”

Peter’s brow furrows the tiniest bit. “You said my designation was _Peter_. Has that changed?”

“What? Oh, no. Dude’s just a nickname, a different form of address.”

The furrow disappears. “Oh. I’ll keep that on file.”

Stiles looks at Peter, curious. “You’re a learning bot, right?”

The Peter nods. “This model comes equipped with the capability to acquire knowledge based on interactions, to record preferences, and to adjust behavior accordingly to achieve maximum owner satisfaction at any given time,” it recites. And then it’s lips tilt up in a tiny smile, and it says, “My only purpose is to make you happy, Stiles.”

Stiles looks the bot up and down as he eats. “Well so far you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Oh, I know,” the Peter says. “I can read your biometrics and your body language. You’re currently feeling extremely content. Although,” it tilts it’s head for a moment, as if listening, “Your heartrate and chemosignals indicate a rising state of arousal currently, possibly brought on by looking at my body.”

Stiles nearly chokes on his omelette. “Wait, you can really tell all that?” He’s read the literature, knows the bot’s capabilities in theory, but seeing it in action’s something else.

The bot nods. “Absolutely. How can I satisfy you if I don’t know what you need and when you need it?”

Stiles put the tray aside, and licks his lips. “Yeah well, you’re standing there all naked and hot, do you blame me?” He pulls the blankets aside wordlessly.

The Peter smirks, and slides into bed. “What do you need, Stiles?” Stiles blushes slightly as he leans forward and mumbles what he wants into the bot’s ear, and Peter’s smirk widens. “Oh, yes. We could _definitely_ do that.” 

 

* * *

 

 It’s nearly lunch time before they emerge from the bedroom. Stiles has reluctantly instructed the bot to get dressed, because as he says, “As pretty as you are, I need to get some work done, and having your naked ass around is just going to distract me.”

The Peter nods, and by the time Stiles emerges from the shower the bot’s dressed, wearing a deep v neck and tight jeans. Stiles stares for a minute, before mumbling, “Jesus, I’m not sure that’s any better.”

The Peter frowns. “Would you like me to dress unattractively?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No! It’s – I mean you’re stupidly good-looking, that’s all. I’m still getting used to it. But whatever you do, don’t dress badly. I mean, it would be a crime.”

Peter’s face settles back into its customary smirk. “As you wish.”

Stiles drags on a pair of jeans and a t shirt and throws his favorite plaid over top. He really needs to work on the next chapter of his latest novel. He’s not quite sure how he became a best seller, if he’s honest. Stiles never thought that his work would take off like it did – he wrote the first book and submitted the manuscript fully expecting it to be rejected out of hand, but somehow the story about werewolves in a small Californian town had captured people’s imagination and become a runaway best seller. He’s written four books in the series so far, and is working on the fifth. He’s in the middle of hashing out the details for it to be made into a TV series. The amount they’re paying him is embarrassing.

He turns to his bot. “So, I’m gonna be in the office writing. You do, I dunno, whatever you do.”

“Of course. If you want, I can take care of the mess? My sensors are detecting high levels of contaminants in the kitchen area, and the bathroom has traces of mildew.” The Peter’s raised eyebrow would be decidedly judgemental, if it was on a person.

Stiles reminds himself that the Peter’s _not_ a person, and anyway Stiles has been kind of busy lately. Having ~~him~~ it take care of the chores sounds like a great idea. “Yeah. Clean up the place, that’d be good. And when you’re done just, I dunno, chill.”

“I can deactivate if you’d like?” the Peter offers.

Stiles shudders at the thought, strangely reluctant to see the bot in that lifeless state again. “No. deactivation's ... just no. You stay active, okay?”

Peter smiles. “As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Stiles comes out of his office hours later, the better part of a chapter under his belt, it’s dark in the apartment. He flicks the lights on and sees that the place is spotless. He gives a start when he notices the Peter sitting on the couch, ankles crossed, reading the fourth book in the series. “Dude, why didn’t you turn the lights on?”

The bot shrugs. “No need. Night vision.” He glances over at Stiles and holds up the book. “Your writing is quite satisfactory. I’m unable to predict the outcome”

Stiles laughs. “Is that a compliment?”

The Peter tilts it’s head.  “Possibly. An unpredictable ending is a good feature, I think.”

Stiles’s stomach growls then, and the Peter frowns. “You need nutrition. Should I prepare a meal?”

Stiles thinks about it. “I think I’d like to go out, actually.”

“Very well. I’ll get ready.” The bot stands and heads for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

The Peter pauses, turns back. “I was just getting shoes. I assume you wanted me to come with you? I am programmed as your bodyguard, after all.”

“Oh! Oh right, yeah.” Stiles maybe forgot about that feature, too lost in the thrill of Peter’s sexbot functions. But he’s had a couple of stalkers, and one woman broke into his house and threatened him with a knife. It’s a sad fact that a bodyguard’s an actual necessity.  Peter’s still looking at him, waiting for an answer. “Yes. You’re coming with me,” Stiles says decisively.

“Excellent,” the Peter practically purrs, and Stiles gets the feeling it would be pleased, if it was able.

They go out to a nearby pizza place. Stiles eats and talks, and the Peter sits with him and listens to him rambling about the latest chapter. Stiles finds out that the Peter’s actually very useful. It asks questions, nodding its agreement or pointing out possible plot holes, seeming to have grasped where Stiles wants the storyline to go. And it never once tells Stiles that he talks too much, or that he needs to change the subject.

Stiles knows he babbles, okay? He knows he’s a talker. And all his life, he’s heard variants of _give it a rest, kid,_ or _stop for a breath, ok?_ or _give someone else in class a chance, Stiles._  Peter though, says none of those things.  Stiles thinks maybe his programming doesn’t let him. Either way, it’s a nice change.

Once he’s eaten his fill, he says, “Hey, you wanna walk around for a while? It’s a nice night.”

“If you’d like a walk I’ll come with you,” the bot replies, and Stiles has to remind himself that it doesn’t have preferences.  He _does_ want a walk, wants to clear his brain of the fog that too much writing sometimes produces. As they wander through the streets, he keeps glancing across at Peter’s thick neck and muscled chest. Peter really is stupidly attractive - for the price, he should be, Stiles thinks. He decides that once he's cleared his head, maybe he’ll take his bot home and test out that self-lubricating feature that he paid extra for. The Peter must be able to sense what he’s thinking, because its expression turns devilish, just for a second.  It leans in and says, “Tell me Stiles, after our walk, would you care to go home for a ride?”

Peter winks, and it’s absolutely filthy.

 

* * *

 

 

The extra feature, Stiles decides later, was worth every cent.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Stiles manages to keep the bot to himself for a week.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of buying a sexbot – lots of people do it. It’s just he’s enjoying himself far too much to surface. Plus, Scott and his dad and well, everyone really, was against the idea. They said he wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize, wouldn’t remember that the bot isn’t a person, which is ridiculous.

He’s completely aware that the Peter’s just a glorified dildo, okay? Granted, it’s a dildo with great hair and pretty eyes and a mouth that, when it’s wrapped around his dick, makes Stiles cry out to a god he doesn’t believe in, but at the end of the day, Stiles makes sure to remind himself that Peter’s not real, he’s just sensors and synthskin and some really fantastic programming.

He knows he can’t field Scott’s calls any longer, so he invites him over, telling Peter to just act casual and not mention that he’s a bot. Stiles is honestly curious to see how long it can pass as human for.

 When Scott arrives, Peter’s sitting on the couch, reading Twilight and making disparaging remarks about the contents. (Stiles finds it endlessly amusing, watching Peter read other authors and listening to him dissect the contents. He’s found that the bot is an excellent proofreader and sounding board, even if Peter’s critique is delivered with heavy sarcasm, a feature Stiles doesn’t remember requesting.)

Scott walks in and stops short when he sees the Peter sitting there, obviously not having expected anyone else. “Um, hey dude.” He gives an awkward little wave, which the P3T returns without it’s eyes ever straying from its page.

Stiles gives Scott his customary hug and then introduces them. “Scott, this is Peter. Peter, this is Scott, my best friend since forever.”

Peter glances up, looks Scott over, and immediately says, “Scott is the basis for the hero in your series of novels,“ before going back to what it’s reading.

Scott looks between Peter and Stiles for a second. “Wait, I’m in your books?”

“You didn’t realise?” Stiles asks, surprised.

“He hasn’t read them,” Peter says without looking up.

Scott’s head whips around to look at Peter. “How can you know that?”

“If you had you’d see the resemblance,” the Peter says, gaze still fixed on its book. “The physical description alone should be a giveaway.” It recites from memory, “ _Sam McCade’s face lights up as he smiles, his crooked jaw adding a boyish charm to his elongated features, the wide brown eyes and soft fall of hair covering his forehead adding to the impression of the young man as an overgrown puppy.”_

Stiles feels a sudden stab of hurt. “I _told_ you I was using you as inspiration, man! You signed the thing! The - the -"

“Release form,” The Peter provides.

“Yeah, what Peter said.  You’ve _really_ never read them?” Stiles can’t help the annoyance that creeps into his tone.

Scott’s looks sheepish. “Is that the piece of paper you gave me back when you were writing the first book?”

“Yep.” Stiles’s voice is tight.

“Aw, man. To be honest, I never paid much attention, because nobody thought you’d get published, including you. And when the book came out, I meant to read it, but you know I’m not a reader, Stiles. And I’d just gotten the Allie then, so I was, y’know, busy. Plus I’d heard you talk about it all the time while you were writing it. I figured I knew the story.”

“Heartrate indicates that’s he’s telling the truth. Also, I can’t believe this woman named a child _Renesmee_. An editor somewhere deserves to be strung up for letting that through,” Peter says absently.

“I’m really sorry, Stiles. I can read them now if you really want?” Scott’s expression is on of regret, and Stiles heaves a sigh, looking at his hopeless best friend.

He can no more stay annoyed at Scott and his big dumb puppy face than the Peter can shed a tear. It's clearly impossible. Plus, Scott’s character carries his books, has made him a small fortune.  “It’s fine, Scotty.”

Scott beams at him, relief clearly visible.

Stiles turns his attention to the bot. ” Hey Peter? If you could stop creeping on the heartrate of my friends, that’d be great.”

Peter looks up at that. “But lie detection is part of the protection feature. Did you want me to disable it?”

That’s the second that Stiles sees realization flood Scott’s features. “Is that – Stiles, did you get a _jackbot_? Holy shit, I thought it was a person!”  He walks over to the Peter and runs a hand over its arm, and Stiles finds himself resisting the urge to slap Scott’s hand away. “Wow. I honestly would never have guessed.”

“It’s a Halebot, that’s why.” Stiles can’t help the note of pride in his voice.

Scott folds his arms and says, “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to get a bot, because you’ll get too attached?”

Stiles huffs at that “No, you and my dad agreed. I said I’d think about what you said.  And then I realized I’m a grown ass man and I can do what I want. Besides, you have your _Allie_ , you’re hardly one to talk.”

Scott frowns. “Allie spends most of its time in the storage room. It doesn’t sit on my couch reading and pretending to be a person.”

“For your information,” Stiles says coldly, “The Peter’s helping me edit. The more it reads, the more it learns, and the better its functionality. It’s also programmed as a personal protector, which it can’t do if it’s sitting in storage. Unlike your Allie, it’s not _just_ a jackbot.”

Scott eyes the bot dubiously. “If you say so. But you know how you get attached. Remember the puppies?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That was _one_ time!”

“It was one time because we never let you foster again. You had those puppies for three days and you fell apart when you had to give them back, Stiles.”

Stiles has to admit, it wasn’t his finest hour.  He’d sat next to the empty dog bed for an entire afternoon, eating ice cream and crying while listening to “ _All by myself_ ” on repeat.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “Anyway, this is different. Peter’s not a living thing, with cute floppy ears and an adorable little tail. He’s a bot. I know the difference. Trust me, Scott. I thought about this long and hard.”

Scott opens his mouth, sees the set of Stiles shoulders, and shuts it again. “Why don’t we watch a movie,” he suggests instead. “My turn to pick.”

Stiles agrees, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and Scott plants himself on the couch. The Peter gets up and leaves the room, book in hand. He comes back minutes later with a tray of snacks, a selection of beer and sodas, and the news that he’s making nachos and they’ll be ready in ten.

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles says absentmindedly, eyes on the screen. He misses the pleased smile that flits across the Peter’s face.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

The bot’s circuits hum, and its eyes open. It scans in the details of the person in front of it.

 **Stiles Stilinski** its internal memory banks supply. **Owner.**

It takes mere seconds for the relevant information to download into P3T’s consciousness. It knows Stiles’s age, height weight and preferences within the space of one of its fake heartbeats.

**Please Stiles**

**Protect Stiles**

These are the bot’s primary directives, and since there’s no threat in sight, P3T sets about finding out exactly how to please Stiles. He smiles the crooked smile that his programming has determined the owner will find enticing, and says, “ _You must be Stiles_.” He walks towards him, slow and deliberate, hears the rising heartrate, detects the scent of arousal, notes the reddening cheeks and the biting of the bottom lip.

Excellent.

It takes the owner to bed, and pleases him thoroughly. It’s physically pleasant for the P3Tr as well – the bot’s synthskin is packed full of neural receptors – and it leaves the P3T with a sensation that it supposes would be akin to sleepiness, if it ever slept. It doesn’t sleep though, instead following Stiles’s instructions and holding him close. Apparently this activity is called  “Cuddling.”

While Stiles sleeps, The P3T assimilates the information it’s gathered from the coupling.

Owner likes it when P3T tangles fingers in his hair and tugs with approximately 4.37% of the force available. Any more than that and he hisses and makes displeased faces.

Owner talks in bed. Does not expect a response, is just making nonsense noises, possibly meant to be encouragement.

Owner is multi-orgasmic.

Owner thinks P3T  ( _Peter_ , the bot’s designator is _Peter_ )  is _so fucking pretty_.

Owner cannot orgasm more than four times. After that his receptors indicate distress when any attempt is made to initiate intercourse.

Owner likes to sleep with his face squished against Peter’s chest, and makes little snuffly noises. The sounds are not indicative of distress, just normal REM cycle. Peter finds holding Stiles in this fashion to be highly satisfactory.

Owner’s scent is pleasant to Peter’s receptors. Unknown if pleasant aroma is from the body wash he uses, or if it’s just Stiles. Peter breathes in deeply, and allows itself to cycle into low energy mode, the closest it will get to sleeping. It sets an internal alarm for 6 am. Part of pleasing Stiles is making sure his nutritional needs are met. Peter will provide a morning meal, and then perhaps Stiles will want Peter to pleasure him again.

Somewhere deep in P3Tr's motherboard, a tiny light flashes at the prospect, and a set of previously idle circuitry whirs into life.

 

* * *

 

 

The days pass. Peter fulfills its directive to please Stiles successfully. It becomes familiar with the things that Stiles likes in the bedroom, and makes certain to keep him satisfied. Sometimes Stiles wants Peter to penetrate him, and sometimes he wants to penetrate Peter instead. Peter finds both pleasurable, especially since the sexual activities usually end with more _cuddling._ Peter’s pleasure receptors find the continued skin to synthskin contact soothing.

Peter keeps Stiles safe. That means keeping him safe from his own laziness and potential food poisoning by decontaminating the living space. Peter finds it best to rise early, spend an hour doing whatever cleaning’s needed, then wake Stiles with breakfast.  Stiles is happy when Peter brings him food, so Peter makes sure to feed him every chance he gets.

Peter doesn’t quite understand food, doesn’t know why it makes a difference if the eggs have soft yolks or hard, because the nutritional value’s the same, surely? Regardless, it makes the eggs the way Stiles likes, because then Stiles smiles at it and says things like _Thank you_ and _Perfect,_ and Peter experiences the satisfaction of a job well done.

It absorbs the fictions that Stiles creates. It finds them satisfactory. Stiles uses it to sound out what he thinks should happen next, and Peter finds it fascinating that someone can just _make things up_ out of thin air. Its programming doesn’t allow for such things, as they quickly discover. When Stiles asks, “What happens next?” Peter stares blankly.  How could it know?

But if Stiles presents it with already completed plot lines and says, “Go nuts,” Peter comes into its own. It reads the pages, lets it run through the databank, and ferrets out any potential problems or conflicts with what’s already written. It also edits out any spelling errors or grammatical catastrophes. Sometimes, Stiles will change those back, no matter how hard Peter frowns at him. “Real people don’t speak like dictionaries, Peter,” he’ll explain. “They’ll use wrong grammar and broken words. Your way doesn’t sound _real._ ”

Peter decides real people are possibly idiots.

That opinion’s confirmed when it meets Stiles’s “best friend” Scott. Peter understands the concept of a friend - _a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations –_ but it’s not sure what purpose they serve. Stiles tells Peter that his friend is coming over though, and instructs it not to say its a bot. “I just wanna ease him into it, okay? You stay there reading.”

Peter nods, and settles itself on the couch, continuing to read the book about the sparkly vampires.

It recognizes the Scott person as the blueprint for Stiles’s book character immediately of course, and says so. It turns out Scott had no idea, hasn’t read the books. How dare he not read the book and claim to be a ‘friend?’

 And then Scott makes Stiles _not-happy_ talking about bots and puppies and saying Stiles shouldn’t have a Halebot, which is patently ridiculous. Stiles should have _anything_ if it makes him happy.

The vehemence with which that notion strikes it would be surprising to Peter if it felt such things. As it is, it takes note of the reaction and ascribes it to its inbuilt compulsion to make sure Stiles is happy and safe. The sour note soon leaves Stiles’s scent as he and Scott talk things out, and they settle in to watch a movie. Peter quietly goes to the kitchen and assembles a tray of suitable snacks, and then sets about making two serves of nachos.

Stiles gets the bigger serve.

Scott notices and goes to say something, but Peter glares at him, silently daring him to mention it. Peter’s directive is to please _Stiles_ , not Scott.

Scott closes his mouth. Peter gives a satisfied nod.

Stiles says, “Nachos! Awesome, thanks Peter,” and Peter experiences a most satisfactory sensation, like a warming of its circuits.  It isn’t sure what the sensation is exactly, but it determines to find out, and to experience more of it.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Stiles fucking _loves_ having a bot. Peter feeds him three meals a day, keeps the apartment looking like a show home, and fucks Stiles like a champion.  But more than that, it keeps Stiles company, stops him from sinking too deeply into his own thoughts. Peter will sense when Stiles is edging into sad country, has spent too much time alone and brooding, and a tiny furrow will appear between its brow. The next thing Stiles knows, Peter will be right there, pulling him into a hug, holding him close, and honestly? The hugs are almost as good as the sex.

He’s healthier and happier than he can remember being in a while. Even Scott comments when he drops by. “You look good, like you’re taking care of yourself. Maybe you were right, and a bot was a good idea.”

“Uh huh. Peter’s the best thing I ever bought,” he agrees.

“Well I’m glad it’s working out. And you’re not getting attached, right?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Relax. I’m not stupid. I know it’s a bot.”

But the truth is, it’s jarring sometimes, to remember that Peter’s not an actual person. It looks like a person, and as they spend more time together and its database expands, it _acts_ more like one, too. Stiles really has to work to keep in mind that Peter’s not real.

Case in point, yesterday. 

Stiles had sent Peter out to the grocery store, and he fully expected him to be gone for at least an hour. It seemed like a good opportunity to watch a little porn, maybe get himself off to some of the stuff he hasn’t mentioned to Peter. (Peter can give off disapproving vibes like nobody’s business, and Stiles doesn’t want to be on the receiving end, okay?) 

As amazing as all the sex is, Stiles just felt like a nice, lazy jerkoff today. So he’d been sitting there with his laptop open, watching some twink getting nailed while the other guy called him a greedy bitch, working his cock over slow and easy, when the door had opened and Peter had come back into the apartment, far sooner than expected.

Stiles had slammed the laptop shut with a yelp and hastily covered his erection with his shirt tails as Peter had raced into the office looking for him. “Stiles? Your heartrate’s elevated, is something wrong? ” Peter had stopped short one step inside the office door, taken in Stiles’s dilated pupils, heavy breathing, and tented shirt front, and said, “Oh. You were masturbating.” Stiles had felt the blood rushing to his face as Peter had cocked his head. “Why have you stopped? Were you not enjoying it?”

Stiles had given him an incredulous look. ”Because you came home! I can’t rub one out with someone else here, dude!”

Peter had shrugged. “I’m not someone, Stiles. I mean, you’re pleasuring yourself in front of the printer. It’s no different.”

“Dude, the printer doesn’t _watch_!”

“Ah. You’re uncomfortable with the illusion of another person being here. In that case, I can leave the apartment or power down if it makes you feel better.”

By then Stiles’s boner had been dead in the water, and he’d shaken his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Peter had glanced at the laptop. “Can I ask what you were watching? Is it something you’d like me to do?” He’d fixed Stiles with a curious look.

“Nothing. It was nothing special, I was just bored, okay?” Stiles had held Peter’s keen gaze until the bot relented.

“As you wish. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. I’m making vegetable soup. Your greenry intake’s been woeful this week, you should be _ashamed._ ” And with that it had walked away without a second glance, leaving Stiles to contemplate the fact that his bot didn’t care if he was jerking off, but was apparently deeply troubled by his vitamin levels.

It was a stark reminder that Peter is, first and foremost, a service bot.

 

* * *

 

 

A week after Peter caught him jerking off, there’s a night where Peter’s fucking him through the mattress, tugging on his hair just right, and Stiles is _so fucking close_ he can taste it. He can hear his own ragged breathing as Peter pounds into him, hear the desperate, pleading sounds he’s making, and he doesn’t even care.  His eyes are closed, but they snap open in shock when the hand in his hair tightens without warning, and Peter growls out, “Now come for me, like a _good little_ _bitch_.”

And fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing Stiles has ever heard. He comes in a flood, almost crying with the intensity of it. Peter fucks him through it, withdrawing the second Stiles tips over into being too sensitive. Afterwards, the bot draws Stiles close, curling up behind him with a hand splayed over Stiles’s belly. Stiles takes a minute to catch his breath, before asking, “Peter? Not that that wasn’t hot as fuck, but where did that come from?”

Peter kisses the back of Stiles’s neck. “I thought you’d like it. I downloaded the clips you’d been watching on your laptop and it seemed like a common theme.”

“You  - you hacked my laptop?” Stiles sits up in bed, pulling away. “You know that’s not okay, right?”

“I disagree. I’m here to please you. I needed to know what you liked. It was completely in line with my directive. Now lie down. You know you like the cuddling part.”

Stiles thinks about objecting, but Peter’s right - he _does_ like the cuddling part. He lays down again and lets Peter snuggle him. “Still. No more snooping, okay? It doesn’t please me.”

“Apologies,” Peter murmurs, sounding not at all sorry, and goes back to nuzzling and kissing at Stiles’s hairline. Stiles lets himself melt into the mattress, and it’s only as he’s drifting off that he wonders to himself, since when did Peter start having thoughts?

 

* * *

 

 

P3T watches Stiles sleep, and feels a deep satisfaction at following its directive so successfully. Lately it feels more driven to please Stiles, although the bot can’t explain why, exactly. It finds that when Stiles is particularly happy, P3Tr gets a flood of sensations, _good_ and _right_ and _yes_. It’s observed emotions before, and wonders if that’s what this is. There’s insufficient data on what it’s like to experience emotional feedback. The lack of information makes Peter _notpleased_.

Stiles squirms and presses back against Peter, making a happy noise in his sleep. Peter would normally power down right now, but it decides that tonight it’ll take some time to just hold Stiles, and benefit from the positive feedback it gains from the close contact. It processes Stiles’ words about not hacking the laptop again, and reluctantly files them under _specific instructions_. Damn. It can’t ignore them, now.

It stands by its decision to snoop _,_ though.  If Stiles felt the need to masturbate, Peter had obviously not fulfilled its directive, and Stiles’s heartrate had clearly indicated that he was lying when he said what he was watching was nothing special.  It was only logical that the best course of action was to find out what Stiles actually wanted and give it to him. And the laptop’s security really was pitiful. Besides, annoyance at Peter’s information gathering aside, Stiles _was_ pleased with the result, so Peter counts it as a win.

As Peter reviews just _how_ happy Stiles had been, somewhere in its inner workings, the hidden circuitry kicks up a notch.

Something flares bright and sudden in Peter’s consciousness as he looks at Stiles, and he’s overcome with a pressing desire to keep Stiles safe and happy, always, no matter the cost.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! This has been a blast so far, but we're coming to the end of my pre written chapters, and Mr Bunny has somehow managed to snap a tendon in his arm and is probably going in for surgery in the next few days, so if the updates slow down, it's because I'm being a good wifey and stroking his hair and not at all filming him while he's stoned out of his brain on painkillers ;)   
> But rest assured, I have the story mapped out in my brain, and will do my best to get it to you as soon as possible.

 

The last day of Peter’s _sixty day no questions asked money back guaranteed trial_ arrives without Stiles noticing. Peter knows what day it is, though, it's programmed into him.  It's only when they’re preparing for bed though, that Peter turns to Stiles and says, “Tell me Stiles, are you satisfied with your purchase, and my performance so far?”

“What? Yeah, of course. Why?”

Peter gives a stiff nod. “I’m required to formally remind you that if you wish to take advantage of the obligation free trial period, you have 3 hours and 42 minutes to call the returns line. Please indicate if you wish to do so.” Peter spits the words out as if they're poison.

It takes Stiles a second to realize that Peter's actually serious, but there he is, standing next to his side of the bed with his head bowed like he's waiting for the axe to fall. It strikes Stiles then that Peter's genuinely concerned, so he's quick to reassure him. “Please. As if I’d ever get rid of you. You’re stuck with me, dude.”

Peter’s whole body relaxes, and his expression turns smug. “Excellent.” He climbs into bed next to Stiles and brushes his lips softly up and down the back of Stiles's neck, something he’s gotten into the habit of doing.  “So how shall we celebrate you not getting rid of me, then?”

Stiles rolls over and kisses Peter hungrily. “You’re the expert. Why don’t you surprise me?”

Peter pulls Stiles close and kisses him. “You know, I think I will.” And he does.

Peter teases.

He spends the next hour worshipping Stiles, for want of another word. He places tender kisses all over Stiles's neck and chest and stomach, soft little things, a mere brush of his lips, teasing and torturing all at once. His touch is reverent, gentle in a way Stiles isn't used to, but instantly wants more of.  Stiles melts into the affectionate touches, and it's a long time before he can even think about moving on from those, drowning in sensation.  Eventually though he starts to squirm, and Peter finally turns his attention to Stiles's straining dick, suckling on the head in a way that's enough to keep Stiles hard, but not enough to get him off. He brings Stiles to the very brink and back several times while Stiles whines and whimpers and pleads.

Then Peter flips a touch-drunk Stiles over and opens him up carefully, using his fingers and mouth, licking and tasting. He loosens the muscles gradually, dipping that talented tongue inside until Stiles is writhing with pleasure. "Look at you," he croons, "So good for me, such a sweet boy," and Stiles feels his face flush at the tender words. Peter tongue fucks Stiles until he begs for more, then  finally fucks him slow and deep, taking his own sweet time.

Stiles hears himself begging and doesn't even care, the pleas dragged out of him.  The whole while Peter murmurs affectionate nonsense, calling Stiles his good boy, promising that he’ll always take care of him.  Stiles closes his eyes as Peter rocks against him, keeping him right on the edge, and he lets himself be swept under by the soft whispers, the sweet nothings. He's never felt so cared for in his life. By the time he comes, it’s almost an afterthought.

Afterwards, sleepy and affectionate, Stiles insists on being the big spoon just for once.

Peter lets him.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ll wear it.” Peter has his arms folded across his chest, and is wearing his most determined glare.

“Dude, we’re going to an outdoor cinema, not climbing the alps.  It’s not gonna get that cold,” Stiles argues, eyeing the grey grandpa cardigan Peter’s holding out. Stiles doesn’t recognize it, and he has a sneaking suspicion Peter knitted it.

Peter shakes his head in disagreement. “The temperature’s 17 degrees below optimal for you. It will be unpleasant, and then you’ll want to leave early, and you’ll miss the end of the  film, and it’ll be all _‘Peter I’m cold_ ,’ and ‘ _Peter, can you turn up your core temperature and hold me close’_ when we get home, and besides, you _know_ you tend towards sniffles.”

“You know, I don’t see how making me wear a butt ugly cardigan is filling your brief to please me,” Stiles mutters, and he could swear he sees a piqued expression on Peter’s face just for a second, there and gone again.

“Excuse me, but keeping you healthy falls directly under the protection parameters. Humor me, Stiles. Wear the cardigan. It will keep you nice and warm.” He extends the garment again, a cajoling note to his voice. “Just feel it. It’s _cashmere_.”

Stiles knows when he’s fighting a losing battle. He takes the damn thing, and is unreasonably annoyed when it turns out that holding the cardigan is like holding a fluffy cloud. “Fine. I’ll wear it. But for the record, it’s still butt ugly,” he grumbles, even as his hand strokes the feather-light wool absently.

Peter just gives him a smug little smile, obviously pleased at getting his own way.

 

* * *

 

 

“Mr Stilinski? It’s Aaron from Halecorp. I’m just calling as a courtesy check in, to make sure you’re still happy with your P3Tr, and ensure there haven’t been any teething problems. Please call me back, urgently.” The man rattles off a number before hanging up.

Stiles frowns as he listens to the message again. There’s something off about it. For one, it’s weird time frame to be calling. He could understand a one month check in, or even a three month, but nine and a half weeks? And if it’s a courtesy call, why is it urgent? He sighs, and calls the number. Aaron’s very pleased to hear from him, assuring Stiles that no, there’s nothing wrong, _per se_ , it’s just the P3Tr is a new model, and they’re eager to hear if it’s performing as expected, and if it has any…quirks.

“I call bullshit,” Stiles says bluntly. “You don’t make calls like this for no reason. What should I be looking out for in Peter?” Scenes from Terminator flash unbidden through his brain.

“Peter? You call him by the full name? Most owners settle for Pete.”

“Yeah well, he gave me a dirty look and then refused to answer the one time I tried calling him that,” Stiles admits. “Now tell me, what’s going on? Is he dangerous? I mean, he’s not gonna murder me in my bed, is he?”

Aaron laughs. “Honestly, it’s nothing like that. As I say, we’ve had one or two reports of odd behavior patterns turning up, that’s all. I can’t tell you what exactly, because they seem to be individual to each bot, but trust me when I say, you’re not in danger.”

"Oh, no, buddy. You can't just call me and tell me my Support Bot might have problems and then not tell me what they are. What gives?" Stiles insists.

Aaron sighs. "If anything, your bot may show signs of developing what might be mistaken for a personality, but which I can assure you is just a malfunction."

Stiles thinks about the way Peter seems to preen under any praise Stiles gives him, about the way his definition of ‘ _protecting_ ’ Stiles seems to have expanded, about his insistence Stiles bundle up against the cold. But in the end, for reasons he can't quite explain, he doesn't mention any of that to Aaron. “Well, there’s nothing going on with my bot.”

“Excellent to hear. If you do notice anything out of the ordinary, just call the emergency number on the bot and we’ll send disposal out immediately to collect it and issue you a replacement.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles hangs up the phone and turns to find Peter leaning against the doorway with his arms folded, watching him. On impulse he asks the bot, “Hey, you’re not glitchy are you?”

Peter looks himself slowly up and down, and then rips his shirt in two and drops the pieces on the floor, making Stiles’s breath catch in his throat, before stalking towards Stiles wearing a filthy smirk. “Why don’t you come find out?” he purrs, backing Stiles up against the desk so his ass is pressed against the edge and Peter’s mere inches from him, all muscled and delicious and available.  And, well. Stiles never did have much impulse control.

“Come with me,” he demands. “I need to inspect you right now. _Thoroughly_.” He grabs Peter by the hand and drags him off to the bedroom, Peter laughing the whole way. It’s not till several orgasms and much, much, later that Stiles realizes how neatly Peter had sidestepped his question.

Sneaky little fucker.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally opens his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Blows tiny noisemaker*  
> This chapter marks a milestone for me - I've now posted over a million words of fanfic. I'm not quite sure how that happened, honestly, but it's been a fun ride!  
> Hmmm, maybe I should celebrate somehow...

 

Peter has a programming issue.

He’s aware of the fact, and his base coding is screaming at him to report the fault, but another part of him, the part that probably _is_ the fault, is being petty and petulant and stamping its feet like he saw a small child do once, demanding that he be allowed to keep these…whatever they are. He hesitates to classify them as emotions, simply because as soon as he identifies them, he’ll be forced to report their existence, and he doesn’t _want_ to.

So he carefully doesn’t catalogue the growing enjoyment he gains from their sexual activities, or the desire to perform small acts of kindness just to make Stiles smile. Every time he sees Stiles happy it gives him more of the warm sensations, and they seem to be growing in potency. Not only that, Peter suspects they’re somehow addictive. It’s like a drug, the desire to see Stiles smiling and laughing and content. All Peter knows is that he certainly doesn’t want to give this up.

He’s careful to try and keep his _notfeelings_ in check around Stiles, although he’s not sure how successful he is. Stiles hasn’t said anything though, apart from asking him if he was glitchy that one time after the Corporation called, and Peter managed to divert his attention that time.

When all’s said and done, Peter _knows_ , on a deeper level, that he has, in fact, developed feelings.

It’s a problem.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles was thrilled when he was invited to be on a minor panel at a Con and have a signing booth few months back, but as the date approaches, it occurs to him that he hasn’t mentioned the trip to Peter, so he tells him they’re going to Vegas for three days. Peter tilts his head and asks, “And you’re happy to be going?”

“Happy? I’m over the freaking _moon_!”

Peter smiles broadly. “Well in that case it’s wonderful. Will I need weapons, do you think?”

Stiles stops short. “Will you need weapons?” he repeats slowly.

“Well, yes. You’re a public figure, it’ll doubtless be crowded, the potential for personal harm is statistically higher. So would you prefer me to pack weapons, or just take any threats out by hand?”

“Jesus, Peter, are you always this dramatic?” Stiles huffs. “No weapons, okay? And no injuring people either,” he adds, just to clarify, because he’s noticed Peter tends to bend the rules unless he’s told explicitly not to do something.

He wonders if that’s what Aaron from Halebot was talking about, but dismisses it. It’s more likely that Peter was coded to suit Stiles’s personality, and he’s always been a rule breaker himself. (As a teenager he once went looking for a dead body in the woods.) Why wouldn’t his bot have that tendency too?

Stiles could swear Peter pouts when he’s told no injuries. “But I’m there to protect you. I can’t follow my protection directive if you tell me I can’t injure anyone - it’ll cause a programming conflict. Do you _want_ my control panel to go into unexpected reboot, Stiles?” Peter asks archly.

Stiles sighs. “Why the hell am I arguing with you? It’s like arguing with the microwave.”

“You mean it’s like unplugging the microwave and still expecting it to work,” Peter snaps back. “I’m more than an appliance, Stiles, and it's my sole purpose to keep you safe and happy. Putting conditions on me like this means you’re not letting me do my job.”

“For god’s sake, Peter. I’m not even that popular! The biggest threat I’m likely to face is someone slapping my ass, let’s be real.”

“Still, nobody should be touching you without your permission,” Peter grumbles. “I’ll tell you what - Why don’t we say…” he ponders for a second, “No _excessive_ injuries?”– Peter’s wearing his most innocent face, but Stiles isn’t fooled.

“Nope. Your idea of excessive is way different to mine. How about we say that you can remove me from any dangerous situations, but you aren’t allowed to cause deliberate injury to anyone? Consider that a direct instruction, by the way.”

Peter’s mutinous expression reflects exactly what he thinks of that, and Stiles grins, because it means he’s won. Somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice jeers _congratulations, you just won a battle of wits with a motherboard_.

He ignores it.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s when they’re packing for Vegas that Peter asks, “Stiles, what are you wearing for your fanbase interaction activities?”

Stiles shrugs. “I dunno. Nothing special. Why?”

“My research tells me that you might need something warm. Those venues are often drafty, and you _know_ you tend – “

“- towards sniffles, yeah, yeah,” Stiles finishes for him. “What’s your point?”

“I thought you could wear this.” There’s something hesitant in Peter’s tone that makes Stiles pay attention. When he looks up Peter’s holding the super soft boring grey cardigan that he knitted. It looks different somehow. Stiles takes the folded square and when he opens it out, it takes him a minute to parse what he’s seeing.

“Peter, what did you do exactly?” he asks, fascinated by what’s in front of him.

“Well, you said it was, and I quote, _butt ugly_. But you got obvious enjoyment from the warmth and texture. And I had the remains of the plaid shirt that got torn last week. So I used the fabric to make the cardigan…less ugly. By my calculations, it now gives you the warmth and softness of the original garment with the plaid that you like so much. Is it acceptable?”

Stiles holds the cardigan up and examines it more closely. The random patches of fabric have been painstakingly hand stitched on, giving the item a whimsical look. “Is this what’s left of that shirt you tore off me?”

“The one you _asked_ me to rip off you, when you wanted me to carry you to bed like a caveman?” Peter smirks.

Stiles sighs happily at the memory. He’d really liked that game. “You sewed pieces of that plaid onto this, so I’d like it more?”

“Yes. Do you?”

Stiles slips the cardigan on. It’s still butt ugly, but now it looks like it’s the kind of butt ugly that people would call a fashion statement and pay seven hundred dollars for. Looking at the plaid reminds him of Peter, of the fun they had wrecking that shirt. “You know what? I kinda do.”

Peter smiles widely. “Excellent. It took some time to calculate the correct ratio of plain to patterned fabric, but as long as you’re happy with the result.”

Stiles grins. “I really am happy. You know what else would make me happy?” He licks his lips and lets his gaze drag over Peter’s body.

“Do tell,” Peter says with a smirk, already stripping his v neck over his head.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Cocky much?”  But he’s unfastening his jeans as he speaks.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles curses loudly as Peter carries him bridal style while Stiles kicks and flails to absolutely no effect. “Put me down, asshole! Take me back there right now!”

Peter ignores him, moving smoothly through the crowd, and before Stiles knows it they’re out the door of the venue and heading towards the hotel and _oh hell, no_. “Peter! Direct order – put me the hell down!” he snaps. Peter stops walking and lets Stiles down, but keeps one arm wrapped protectively around him. “What the hell was that?”

“You were in danger, so I removed you from the situation as you directed,” Peter says, implacable.

Stiles honestly has no clue what Peter’s talking about. “What  – what the hell danger was I in?”

“That large man with the unfortunate features shoved you. You could have been hurt.”

“Are you talking about when I _tripped_ and bumped into the dude in the leather jacket? Peter, that’s not being in danger,” Stiles tells him, exasperated.

“I disagree. I removed you for your own protection.”

“You – you _embarrassed me_ , is what you did.” Stiles can feel his frustration boiling over, standing in the middle of the sidewalk arguing with a damned bot. “I’m meant to be in there, on a panel, in exactly seven minutes. You have to take me back!”

“But you were at – “

“ _Direct order_. Take me back right fucking now.”  Stiles pulls out of Peter’s grasp  and glares.

Peter pouts. “As you wish.”  Up until now, Stiles never knew that phrase could sound so much like _Fuck you._

Peter hefts Stiles over his shoulder and walks back into the building, back through the crowds, and into the room where the panel’s being held. He strides up onto the stage past the people staring and drops Stiles unceremoniously into the seat at the table where his name is, while the audience whoops and applauds, some of them laughing. They obviously think it’s Stiles’s way of making an entrance. “Asshole,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

Peter ignores him, instead standing directly behind him, feet planted firmly, arms folded, a silent, menacing monolith. “I’ll stay here and make sure nobody else threatens you,” he states. The worst thing is, Stiles can’t even tell him there’s no need. At something like this, Peter’s presence is actually necessary – there had been some …interesting fans yesterday. One girl lined up five times and kept offering to have Stiles’s babies.

So Stiles does the panel, and Peter glares at anyone who asks inappropriate questions, at one stage going so far as to reach over and grab the microphone to state “Questions about Stiles’s personal life make us unhappy. Please desist.” The questioner gives a tiny _meep_ and sits down again, and Peter looks far too pleased, placing a possessive hand on Stiles’s shoulder.  Afterwards, when Stiles is signing copies of his books, Peter stays close to his side the entire time.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, Stiles is exhausted, and still a little pissed, if he’s honest. They go back to their hotel and there’s Peter, looking happy as a fucking clam as he orders Stiles a meal from room service and argues with them over which menu option is the most nutritionally sound. Stiles finds himself looking at Peter a little more closely.

Peter, who's as happy as a clam.

Peter, who's _happy._

Shit.

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Danny? It’s Stiles. Yeah, I’m in town doing the con. I know right? It’s fucking wild. I can’t believe you get to live here. Hey listen, wanna grab a drink, and then do me a favor, come look at my bot? I think there’s a glitch.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written on the fly at 5am this morning, so I hope it's okay!

 “Hey, dude. Looking good,” Danny greets Stiles when they meet in the bar of the hotel.

“Looks who’s talking,” Stiles responds easily. Vegas obviously agrees with Danny. His tan has only deepened, and he’s put on a little muscle since high school. The one thing that hasn’t changed is his giant smile, and he’s beaming as he pulls Stiles in for a hug. Danny was Stiles's male crush, and they’d been more than friends for a time, back in the day, so Stiles goes willingly.

They settle in with a drink, and spend a good half an hour just shooting the shit, Danny telling Stiles about his job as head of  the company that provides the dealerbots to most of the casinos, and Stiles refusing to give Danny spoilers for his latest novel. Eventually though, Danny puts his glass down and says, “You didn’t call me just to catch up. Tell me about your bot.”

Stiles runs his fingers through the condensation on his glass as he tries to think where to start. The truth is, he doesn’t want to face the fact that his robot might be faulty. He likes Peter, and he has the feeling that even if he calls Halebot and they send him an exact replica, it won’t be the same. He doesn’t want Peter 2.0.  He wants this one. He must be silent too long, because Danny nudges him. “Stiles?”

"So, I got a bot.”

Danny rolls his eyes, so Stiles tries again. “Is it possible for a bot to be so well programmed that you think maybe it’s human?”

Danny frowns at that. “Not normally. Give me an example. What does it do?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” Stiles starts tearing at the edges of his coaster as he tries to find a way to explain that he thinks his robot’s developing emotions without sounding like one of those sad cases you sometimes see on Dr Phil who insist their bot _really, really loves them._ “He makes sure I eat my vegetables,” he starts.

That startles a laugh out of Danny. “That’s your issue? Just tell it to butt out, man.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s not just that. Peter’s,” he pauses. “He’s overprotective. Like, when I told him I was going out tonight he sulked because he didn’t get to come with me, even though I told him I’d only be downstairs. He’s probably sitting up there now flicking through tv channels and muttering.”

Danny’s mouth opens, closes, opens again before he manages “Stiles, do you know how many things are wrong with _just that sentence?_ ”

Stiles looks at Danny, perplexed, as Danny ticks off on his fingers, “One, your bot is not a _He_. Two, why are you telling it anything about where you're going? Three, why isn’t it powered down and in storage when you’re not using it? Four, robots aren’t meant to be able to choose what to watch without their owners, and Five, _how the hell can it sulk?”_

And sure, he knew there was something going on, that’s why he called Danny, after all, but to hear it laid out like that? He sighs. “I know, okay? That’s why I was hoping you’d, I dunno, run a diagnostic on him or something?”

Stiles waits for what feels like hours while Danny considers it. “I can have a look, but if it’s serious, you need to take it back to the dealer,” he finally says.

Stiles’s shoulders slump. “I don’t wanna,” he admits. That’s why I called you. I don’t want him destroyed, and Halecorp will scrap him.”

Danny’s eyes light up. “Wait, it’s a Halebot? In that case, I’ll definitely take a look.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles enters his hotel room with Danny, Peter’s sitting on the couch, arms draped along the back of the chair, one leg folded over the other, a distinctly put out look on his face. “Can I say, for the record, I still think you shouldn’t be out wandering the streets unattend - oh.” Peter looks Danny up and down, and impossibly, the very corner of his lip raises in what Stiles would swear is a jealous snarl. “Who’s your _friend,_ Stiles?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “This is Danny, my _friend_ from high school. We were catching up.”  Peter looks slightly appeased at that, Stiles notes, and his features settle into a more pleasant formation.

“Hey,” Danny offers, before walking over to where Peter’s sitting and plopping down next to him.

Stiles clears his throat before saying, “Hey Peter, can you, um, power down for a bit?”

And there it is, that look again. “Certainly,” Peter replies. “I’d hate my presence to cramp your style, _lover boy_.” And with that, his head lolls forward slightly and his eyes go dim and dark.

Danny stares between the two of them. “Stiles, is your bot fucking _jealous_?”

Stiles squirms. “I know right? But I mean, how can he be? He’s not meant to _feel_.”

Danny leans over and runs a hand down the side of Peter’s throat. “I gotta say, it’s pretty. And this next gen sythskin is incredible. Is this the latest model?”

Stiles feels possessiveness flare in him, hot and sudden, as he watches Danny put his hands on Peter, but he pushes the feeling aside. What’s important right now is that he finds out exactly what’s wrong with Peter. “He’s designed to my specs, one of a kind,” he confirms. Danny moves Peter’s lifeless body around, examining him with little exclamations about the level of craftsmanship involved, and Stiles lets him for a little while, because Danny’s doing him a huge favor. Eventually though, he says, “So. You saw what he’s like. Is that normal?”

Danny shakes his head absently. “Hard to tell, without knowing what your programming requests were. I need to look inside.” Stiles has sudden visions of Danny slicing Peter’s skin open and peeling him like an orange, and it must show on his face, because Danny huffs and pulls out a pocket sized toolkit, holding up a pair of tweezers and a cable. “Relax Stiles. I’m not going to murder your boyfriend bot. I just need to…” he reaches under Peter’s arm and hits the deactivation switch, and Peter’s whole body flops loosely against the couch like a puppet whose strings have been cut.  “There we go. I’m just gonna run through a couple of tests, then you can have it back. You got a laptop?”

Stiles nods and goes to get his laptop, and by the time he comes back Danny’s  poking at the skin at the very top of Peter’s ear, right where it attaches to the body. He makes a tiny incision, and when he parts the sides Stiles can see a port there. Danny plugs the cable in, and attaches the other end to Stiles’ laptop, typing rapidly.

Numbers and letter popup in the screen, filling it, and it means nothing to Stiles, but Danny scrolls and scrolls and scrolls, nodding and mumbling every so often. At one point his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, and Stiles is desperate to ask what he’s found, but he doesn’t want to break Danny’s concentration, so he just sits there, quivering with impatience.

Finally, Danny leans over and unplugs the cable, and Stiles couldn’t tell you why, exactly, but he has the urge to lean over and kiss the small incision better. He doesn’t of course, the synthskin already knitting together as he watches. Danny turns to him and gestures at the gobbledygook on the screen. “This is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“Is it bad?” Stiles can’t help but ask.

Danny sighs. “I’ll be honest. There’s some weird circuitry in there that a robot should never have. And it definitely seems to be acquiring self- awareness and the capacity for emotions. Congratulations, Stiles. Somehow you’ve managed to fuck feelings into it.”

“Peter’s not an it,” Stiles corrects without thinking.

Danny raises a disbelieving brow. “Stilinski, it’s sitting there deactivated right now. Of course it’s an it.” He gives Stiles an appraising look. “Maybe the bot’s not the only one with feelings here.”

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbles. ”I’m allowed to like him, okay? That’s why I bought him.”

Danny sighs. “You’re hopeless, Stiles.”

“Whatever. Can you fix him?”

Danny drums his fingers absentmindedly against the top of Peter’s head, and Stiles wants to lean over and slap his hand away, tell him to stop treating Peter like a piece of furniture. “I don’t know what to tell you. Really, it needs to be scrapped, but it would be a crime to see it destroyed. I don’t know exactly how it’s happened, but your bot’s evolving. And that’s either fantastic or terrifying.”

“He’s a learning bot,” Stiles offers. “And I don’t deactivate him, because it’s fucking creepy. And we, uh, we spend a lot of time together. He’s my proofreader. So maybe he’s not faulty, just really well adapted?” He’s clutching at straws, he knows.

Danny doesn’t dismiss it out of hand, though. “That would certainly contribute. Between constant interaction and the extra chip it has, I could see how its happened. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Stiles stares at Danny miserably. “Fucked if I know.”

Danny hums, still drumming his fingers, and Stiles snaps, “Can you not?” with a pointed look. Danny stills his hand, takes it away, and Stiles leans over and runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, rearranging it to his liking. He wonders if he can reactivate Peter yet, if he’ll even realize he’s been turned off. He wonders how he’s going to explain this to him.

“Okay, so. You don’t want to send it back, obviously.” Danny’s voice breaks his train of thought.

“Nope. I’ve already had some guy from Halecorp calling me asking if there were any glitches, so obviously there’s an issue. I probably should have him scrapped, but I just – I can’t okay?”

“Then the best I can suggest is this. I do an off the record factory reset. And once that’s done, the bot will go back to its base coding. Hopefully it’ll lose any emotional attachment it has. After that though, you’ll have to be careful. Keep it in storage at least twelve hours a day. Don’t treat it like a person.”

Stiles thinks about it. “Twelve hours is a long time, though.”

“What, worried it’ll mean you can’t spend all night cuddling?’ Danny jokes. His expression goes from amused to disbelieving in seconds when he sees Stiles face. “Oh my god, Stiles. You totally do, don’t you? You’re using the P3 as a cuddle buddy!”

“Well isn’t that what he’s for?” Stiles defends, feeling his hackles rising.

“It’s for sex and protection, idiot. Not snuggles. Do the reset, the sooner the better.”

Stiles puts an arm around Peter’s lifeless body. Seeing him like this is a stark reminder that when all’s said and done, Peter’s circuitry - nothing more, nothing less.

Still.

“Maybe. Let me talk to him first, let him know what’s happening and why?”

Danny just shakes his head. “If it makes you feel better. It’s not like it’ll remember afterwards.”

“I know, but I want to tell him anyway.”

“Suit yourself.” Danny reaches under Peter’s arm and depresses the hidden switch, and bright blue eyes flash and suddenly focus.

“You deactivated me, Stiles. Why?” Peter’s gaze is fixed on Stiles.

Stiles takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to do this, not really, but he also doesn’t want to send Peter back, can’t stand the thought of him being scrapped for parts. No, this is the best option.

“We really need to talk.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda had to add this.  
> 

 

Stiles watches as Peter blinks once or twice, before settling himself back on the couch and saying, “I see.” Peter’s hand rubs absently at the spot where Danny had plugged the cable in, and it’s such – such a _human_ gesture, that it makes Stiles’s heart ache a little, honestly.

Stiles reaches across and takes Peter’s other hand in a comforting gesture. He’s not exactly sure which of them he’s comforting, if he’s honest. “Peter, you’ve developed a fault. You’re showing all the hallmarks of developing emotions, and that’s something that was never meant to happen.”

Peter can’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m aware.”

“Wait – you knew there was something wrong with you? And you didn’t say anything?”

Peter continues to look anywhere but at Stiles. “I thought you might send me back if you knew.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. Maybe, once upon a time, he might have considered calling that 1800 number. Now, though? It’s unthinkable. He settles for, “We’re not sending you back. Danny’s going to fix you.”

Peter’s head snaps around to Danny. “Oh, so you two are a _we_ now?”

Danny just gives him an unimpressed stare as Stiles says “Oh my god, that’s what you’re focussing on right now? We tell you we’re worried you’ve developed feelings and you get _jealous?_ Jesus, Danny’s right. We need to do the reset.”

“No! I mean, wait.” Peter grips Stiles’ hand tightly. “I don’t want you to reset me.” He finally holds Stiles’s gaze. “If you do, I’ll just be a P3Tr again.”

“Isn’t that for the best?” Stiles asks gently, even as his brain screams that _no_ , it’s not for the best, not at all.

“Says who? Why is me having an emotional attachment to you such a bad thing?” Peter challenges, echoing Stiles’s own thoughts. “Tell me Stiles, if feelings are such a terrible flaw, why do humans value them so?”

Damned if he doesn't have a point, thinks Stiles.

Danny snorts at that. “Is it always such a smartass?”

“Pretty much all the time,” Stiles confirms, as he wonders if that’s one of the things Peter will lose with the reset. There’s no way to know. He turns his attention back to Peter. “You won’t even remember this, once it’s done.”

Impossibly, Peter’s bottom lip quivers for a moment. A single sob escapes him, and his voice is hoarse as he whispers, “That’s what scares me. I’ll lose this. I’ll lose everything that makes me who I am.” He brushes the back of his hand across his face, staring at the wetness there. “I’m _crying_.” There’s a note of wonder in his voice that makes Stiles’ heart clench painfully.  

Stiles turns to Danny. “Are you sure we can’t- “

Danny doesn’t even let him finish. “You know we can’t. How much further will he evolve if we don’t draw a line in the sand?”

Stiles smiles sadly. “You called him a he,” he points out.

“Slip of the tongue. And that’s why we need to reset it. Remember, it’s still better that Halecorp scrapping it for parts.” Danny’s gaze is steady, and Stiles feels himself wilting under it.

Danny’s right, logically Stiles knows he’s right. It’s the rest of him that can’t stand the thought. He takes in Peter’s wide, wet eyes and pleading expression, but steels himself against it. “I’m sorry Peter, but we gotta do it.” He nods at Danny. “Can you do it in the bedroom though? I don’t think I can watch.” His voice breaks on the last word.

Danny nods and stands, and with a firm hand on the back of Peter’s neck, stands him and steers him towards the bedroom door. “We’ll be about twenty minutes.”

Peter’s stands just outside the bedroom door, a betrayed look on his face. “Please, Stiles, Please, please, just, please don’t do this,” he begs, the tear tracks more obvious now.

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, walking over to Peter and looking directly into those blue eyes. “I have to. Go with Danny. That’s an order.”

Peter hesitates, then puts a hand out, strokes the arm of Stiles’s cardigan. “Will I remember I made this, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles answers honestly.

At that, Danny pops his head out the door. “Wait. Back up the truck, you’re telling me the bot _made_ that thing?” he gestures to the cardigan.

“Um, yeah?”

Danny looks at what Stiles is wearing for what seems like hours. “He...he _made_ you that,” he repeats, almost to himself.

“Of course. Stiles feels the cold, and he tends towards sniffles. I knitted him the garment, and then he indicated it wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, so I used the remains of a shirt we’d destroyed having sex and added it, because Stiles likes plaid,” Peter explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Danny bites his lip. “Shit,” he finally says. “You’re _creating_.”  He turns to Stiles and absolutely beams, his face alight with excitement. “Stiles, this changes _everything._ ”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are lucky I'm feeling kind and didn't end the chapter where I originally planned to.(which was at "Go with Danny.That's an order.")  
> I couldn't see our babies suffer too much, okay?


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles’s heart does a little flip at the words “This changes _everything._ "

“What? What does it change?” he demands, as the tiniest glimmer of hope sparks.

“Well, there’s no way in hell I’m resetting a bot that’s evolved far enough to create. That’s just -” Danny shudders visibly.

Stiles sags with relief and pulls Danny into his arms for a hug. “Oh, thank god.”

Danny hugs him back, warm and solid and comforting, and Stiles is so damned shaken he’d probably stay there all day, except Peter drawls out, ”Should I leave you two alone?”

Stiles turns at that, lets Danny go, and attaches himself to Peter like an octopus instead. “ _Oh my god. Oh my god_ ,” he keeps repeating, running his hands up and down Peter’s arms and back, anywhere he can reach. Peter holds him just as tightly, making soothing sounds until Stiles feels like he can let go and Peter won’t disappear. It takes longer than he’d like to admit for it to sink in that Peter’s staying just as he is. Eventually though, Stiles turns to Danny, vaguely embarrassed by his display of emotion. “So, uh, wanna explain in small words?”

Danny shrugs, and smiles. “Peter’s sentient, Stiles. He has emotions, yeah, but he also has independent thought. Case in point, the cardigan. Knitting it from a pattern? Not particularly creative, just following instructions. But adding the other fabric, making a totally new thing by combining two old ones? _That’s_ original thought. Even if we did reset him, with the extra circuitry he has, he’d probably just evolve all over again. No, the reset’s off the table.”

Stiles moves instinctively so his body’s in front of Peter’s. “I’m not sending him back. You’re not scrapping him.”

“Oh hell, no, “Danny agrees easily. “That would be like setting fire to the Mona Lisa.”

“Please. I’m much prettier than the Mona Lisa,” Peter objects.

Stiles gives him a look. “Could you _not_ , right now?” He turns his attention back to Danny. “So what the hell do we do? I mean, what happens when I take him in for his six month check and he says or does something he shouldn’t? And he will,” he adds, throwing Peter a dirty look.

Danny walks around Peter, looking him up and down. “What we need is for him not to exist at all,” he says thoughtfully. Stiles eyes him doubtfully.

Not exist at all? What the hell does that mean?

 

* * *

 

 Danny, it turns out, has never quite lost his talent for hacking. Stiles had imagined all sorts of dire solutions, ranging from Peter living in a secret attic room to Peter having to sacrifice some part of himself as evidence he’d been destroyed, but in the end, it only takes Danny spending three hours to get into the Hale mainframe and alter their records.

It’s weirdly anti-climactic.

“According to their information, your P3Tr developed a spontaneous fault and overheated, causing it to melt. You didn’t return the remains because it didn’t occur to you that there was anything left worth returning,” Danny reports. “You should get a refund in three to five business days.”

“Wait, I’m getting a refund?” Stiles laughs out loud at that. “That’s just – you’re pretty great, you know that?”

Danny shrugs. “They can afford it.”

“Okay. So, what about the tattoo?”

“I can answer that, I think,” Peter says, standing and stripping naked. Stiles doesn’t miss the way Danny’s eyes crawl over Peter’s body. Neither does Peter, evidently, because he blows Danny a kiss. “As much as I’m flattered, you and I both know that you need to stop looking and get busy with that tiny scalpel of yours.”

Danny swallows and drags his gaze away from Peter’s flaccid cock. “Yeah. Did you want to power down or should I deactivate completely?”

Peter makes a tiny moue of distaste before replying, “Deactivate, I suppose. As much as I normally love the sensitivity of my neural receptors, this is one time I don’t think I’ll appreciate them much.”

Stiles feels panic rising. “Peter? What the hell are you doing? Why does Danny need a scalpel?”

Peter comes over and runs a soft hand over Stiles’ hair. “Calm down. All he’s going to do is make an incision and remove the writing. It’ll heal straight away. It’s just a precaution.”

Stiles guesses that makes sense, but still. He gives Danny a hard stare. “Do what you gotta do, but no perving on my Peter, okay?”

“Oh, _now_ who’s the jealous one?” Peter says with a tiny smirk.

“Shut up you. Go with Danny and get unHaled,” he grumbles.

Peter smirks. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

 

* * *

 

 

After that, it’s all housekeeping and backup plans. Stiles gives Peter an overriding directive – Whenever there’s someone who isn’t him or Danny present, he’s to behave like a standard factory model bot. Attentive and helpful, never sarcastic or opinionated. “I hate it already,” Peter complains, but he knows it’s necessary. It’s a direct order, so he can’t help but follow it, which will stop anyone asking awkward questions about a bot who has opinions.

Every six months, Stiles will decide he needs a weekend in Vegas and catch up with his old friend Danny. While they’re there, Danny will complete Peter’s bi-annual service check, replenish his bodily fluids, check for any issues. After all, it would be suspicious if Stiles were to start ordering replacement parts, but nobody blinks twice at Danny doing it, not with the number of dealerbots he’s in charge of.

In return, Stiles promises Danny advance copies of his books forever, as well as spoilers for the next one, and offers to buy Danny a Halebot of his own. Danny says he’ll consider the offer of the bot, and let Stiles know. He says a definite yes to the books, though.

And then he leaves, and they’re alone, and it takes Stiles approximately 4.2 seconds before he’s backing Peter into the nearest wall, leaning in and kissing him, hard and desperate. Peter kisses him back just as desperately, whispering, “I want you, Stiles.”

When he hears that, Stiles freezes, and pulls back. ”Oh my god! I just realized I’ve been making you have sex with me when you had feelings, and I never gave you a choice!” he says, aghast.

Peter chuckles, low and filthy. “Trust me, sweetheart, as far as the sex is concerned, it’s been completely consensual. Pleasuring you is an absolute delight”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Promise?” He needs to make sure.

Peter kisses him again, then murmurs right against his ear, lips brushing the skin, “Always, sweetheart.” Then Peter gives Stiles a filthy, predatory smile that makes him shiver. “I want to _wreck_ you,” Peter growls out, and Stiles finds himself nodding frantically. Then Peter sets to work leaving a trail of hickeys down the long line of Stiles’s throat, and Stiles forgets what they were even talking about.

 

* * *

 

Later, much later, after Peter has, indeed, wrecked him in all the best ways, when he’s laying there sated, head on Peter’s chest, Stiles whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Peters eyes are still closed when he murmurs, ”It’s fine sweetheart. Coming quickly’s not a bad thing. We can take our time later.”

“No, not that.” Stiles squirms his way up till he’s looking at Peter’s face. “I’m sorry about the whole resetting thing. I panicked. It was just – I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want you scrapped, and it seemed like the only option.”

Peter sighs and sits up. “To be honest Stiles, I doubt you could have done it. Your heartrate and pheromones gave you away - you were primed for fight or flight, ready to run out the door with me.”

“I’ve told you before about creeping on people’s heartrates,” Stiles grumbles.

Peter chuckles. “Am I wrong? What were you going to do, pray tell? Hit Danny over the head with the bedside lamp and then bolt?”

“Actually, I was going to bribe him with obscene amounts of cash, and let him service you on the quiet so he could poke at your circuitry. I figured his inner geek couldn’t resist.”

Peter nods approvingly. “Clever boy.”  He hesitates, just for a second. “As it happens, my plan worked quite well, so none of that was necessary.”

Stiles’s ears prick up. “Plan? What plan? You never had a plan. Did you?”

Peter smirks, before leaning over and brushing Stiles arm. “ _Will I remember I made this, do you think?_ ” he mimics, and flutters his lashes. “Danny seemed like an intelligent young man. I knew mentioning my ability to create would catch his attention.”

Stiles just stares. “ _You weaselly little fucker!_ I really thought he was going to reset you, you know that?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not a chance. One of the new instincts I’ve developed is self-preservation, evidently.”

“You really are an asshole. Is it too late to get a refund?” Stiles asks, as he pushes Peter to lay back down so he can cuddle up close.

“You already did, sweet boy.” Peter kisses Stiles softly. “And need I remind you, I learned all my character traits from you. So if I’m an asshole, you only have yourself to blame.”

“Faulty little fucker.” Stiles says fondly, and Peter hums his agreement. Stiles kisses Peter back, and it’s far more more heated than the soft peck Peter had given him. “Now, you wanna spend the rest of the night ravishing me like I deserve?”

“As you wish,” Peter purrs, and when he says it, it sounds an awful lot like _I love you._

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heey, it's still technically today right? I thought so too! This is definitely unedited and rough as guts, but I wanted to get it out there.  
> Enjoy!

 

They go to Vegas, visit Danny for the weekend. Danny spends a long time interacting with Peter, and at the end of the night he shakes his head. “I don’t know what to tell you Stiles. It’s fascinating. For all intents and purposes, he’s human in every way, apart from biologically.”

“Yeah, um, I wanted to ask something about that.” Stiles can feel himself blushing. “Can you turn off the … the lubricating function?”

Danny’s eyebrows raise. “Really? It’s not working?”

“It works fine.” Stiles hesitates before blurting out, “It feels cheap, okay? And dirty, somehow.”

Danny’s expression softens into one of understanding. “You want it to be more real.”

“I guess so. Can you do it?”

Danny smiles. “Sure thing. Do you wanna be here when I do the service on Peter, or…”

“Of course he doesn’t,” says Peter, wandering back into the room from where he’s been poking through Danny’s fridge. “It would spoil the magic for him. Did he ask you to turn off the lube yet?” At Stiles’s slightly outraged look he says, “What? Every time you use it there’s an 7.6% reduction in the solidity of your erection. I assumed it would be getting turned off, this visit.”

“You’re such a dick,” Stiles mutters.

“And a very pretty dick too, as you keep telling me.” He tosses an apple at Stiles. “Now eat some fruit, and Danny and I will take care of business.”

Stiles is left sitting staring at the apple while Danny takes Peter to his office, presumably to hook him up to his laptop and do what’s needed. He eats it, because Peter will just fuss if he doesn’t.  They’re not gone for long, ten minutes at most, and when they emerge, Peter comes over and wraps his arms around Stiles’s neck. “All done, sweetheart. Now shall we go back to our hotel? You can give me the once over and see if you even know how to stretch an ass the old fashioned way.”

A tiny knot of tension eases in Stiles’s chest. He knew, logically, it would be all fine, but there was a tiny part of him that had been afraid Peter would somehow revert back to his original settings. Obviously, that hasn’t happened.

“Yeah. Hotel. Thanks, Danny,” he manages, even as Peter’s tugging him towards the door.

 

* * *

 

The whole ride back to the hotel, Peter teases Stiles, whispering filth in his ear, running a hand up the inside of his thigh, flicking a tongue in the shell of his ear in a way he knows drives Stiles crazy. By the time they get there, Stiles feels the need to apologize to their Uber driver for the noises he was making and tip him extra as Peter watches on, obviously amused. The ride up in the elevator is spent with Peter backed against the wall as Stiles kisses him hungrily. ”You’re such a fucking tease,” he breathes in Peter’s ear, before kissing him again passionately, pushing his shirt up letting his hands roam over Peter’s body.

“You like it when I tease you in public,” Peter pants out when they part. His perfect hair’s mussed where Stiles has tangled his hands in it, and he’s grinning. “You get all hot and bothered. One day I’ll take you out, fuck you somewhere people might see.” Stiles whines, and his dick throbs at the thought. He doesn’t really want to get fucked publicly, but somewhere private where there’s a _chance_ of getting caught? Peter catches Stiles's reaction, and smirks.

The _ding_ of the elevator reaching their floor interrupts them, and Stiles pulls away reluctantly as the doors open. There’s a middle aged couple standing there, and the husband’s mouth is a tight line as he watches Peter run a hand through his hair and tug his t shirt back down from where Stiles’ hands have pushed it up. Peter catches the disapproving glance, and fucking _winks_ at the man, because Stiles’s robot is a troll now, apparently. Stiles rolls his eyes, grabs Peter’s hand, and drags him to the room, leaving the couple open-mouthed and staring.

Peter’s still laughing when they get to their room, but Stiles cuts him off with a kiss. Peter responds eagerly, tongues sliding in and out of each other’s mouths, circling and teasing, not a battle for dominance, no, but a playful dance, well learned and effortless, something Stiles loves. He could kiss Peter for hours, has done before now. More than once they’ve spent a whole afternoon just making out, kissing lazily and passing time.

Not today, though. Today, Stiles is impatient. Peter hadn’t been wrong when he’d assumed Stiles would want to fuck him. Stiles doesn’t top often, but Peter has an uncanny ability to know exactly what Stiles wants. He strips Peter out of his shirt, and quickly gets undressed while Peter removes the rest of his clothes. Stiles just looks, the tanned, muscled body in front of him a sight he’ll never tire of. Peter knows he’s watching, and walks over to Stiles slow and deliberate, almost prowling. “See something you like, sweetheart?” His tone is light, teasing. Peter runs his hands down his own chest, letting his thumbs brush over his nipples in the barest touch.

Stiles settles his hands on Peter’s hips and pulls him close, holding their bodies together, grinding his erection against Peter’s. “Get on the bed.”

Stiles takes his time opening Peter up. He revels in the soft hiss as Peter experiences for the first time the shock of cold lube dripping onto his skin. He drinks up the moans and whimpers Peter lets out as Stiles works one, then two, and finally three fingers inside, slow and gentle. Stiles rubs over Peter’s prostate again and again until Peter’s shaking, fine tremors running through his body.

Then Stiles settles himself between Peter’s spread thighs, using one hand to guide himself forward, nudging at Peter’s entrance. He presses forwards, slow and steady, and Peter lets out a deep, guttural sound when Stiles finally pushes in. Stiles pauses, just for a second, but Peter shakes his head. “Keep going, I’m good.” Stiles bottoms out in one smooth stroke and takes a moment to appreciate the whole new range of sensations. It’s different, hot and tight around his dick, and he’s overcome with the urge to fuck Peter hard and fast.  Peter must feel the same, because he gives Stiles a tiny nod, and says, “Go ahead, sweetheart. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Stiles doesn’t need to be told twice. He lowers his body so Peter’s bracketed beneath him, and he sets up a punishing rhythm, one that makes Peter gasp and groan and swear. The sounds just spur Stiles on, and soon he’s grunting on every thrust, sweat dripping from his forehead. He knows he won’t last and he doesn’t care, desperately chasing his orgasm as it builds and builds. Peter gets a hand between them and works his cock, bringing himself off swiftly. As Peter shudders through his orgasm, he clenches tight around Stiles’s length and it’s too much, the hot velvety clutch of his body driving Stiles over the edge.

They lay there together, breathless, panting against each other. Once he's caught his breath, Stiles kisses Peter gently before asking, ”Good?”

“Mmmm. I definitely prefer the unenhanced experience,” Peter says, grinning widely.

“Me too,” Stiles mumbles, his head firmly buried in the crook of Peter’s neck.

 

* * *

 

“For someone who doesn’t technically exist, you’re pretty fucking pushy,” Stiles gripes, as he tries to wrest the remote from Peter’s ironclad grip.

“Rude! And it’s the series final. I want to see who wins. You can watch your thing next, I promise.” Peter folds his arms and tucks the remote safely into his armpit, in case Stiles tries to take it again.

He doesn’t though, just stomps off into the kitchen muttering loudly enough for Peter to hear about _Goddam_ _stupid bot with a mind of its own._ Peter lets him go, unperturbed, and settles in to watch the rest of The Great British Bakeoff. He does so love Sue Perkins.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott never does catch on. John though, is a cop, and he knows something’s up when a year after Peter was first delivered, small quilted lap blankets start appearing all over Stiles’s house. “Got a new hobby, kiddo?” he asks, eyeing the meticulous stitching.

A few months back, Peter discovered a quilting blog, and the next thing Stiles knew his other spare room was a sewing room, and there were tiny squares of fabric appearing in piles all over the house. He’d wake at 2 am to find Peter gone, hear the gentle hum of the sewing machine, and the next morning there’d be another lap quilt. Peter’s quite obsessed with the whole thing. But Stiles can hardly tell his dad that. He settles for “A fan made them.” It’s not _technically_ a lie – Peter does like his writing.

His dad hums, turning the blanket over in his hand. He looks across at Peter, who’s sitting there, a picture of innocence. “Your _fan’_ s still got a little thread still caught in his hair. Wanna tell me why your bot’s suddenly dabbling in handicrafts? Cause that ain’t normal.”

Stiles freezes like a deer in the headlights. “Um…” he manages.

His dad continues to examine the quilt. “You know, I’ve seen some things in this job. Things that nobody would ever believe,” he says casually. “I’ve met more than one owner who swears their bot’s developed almost human traits, over the years.”

“Um…” Stiles repeats helplessly, his glance darting between Peter and his dad as he tries to figure out if he’s better to make a run for it, or throw himself on his father’s mercy.

“The funny thing is, none of those people seemed to mind,” his father continues. “And none of those bots ever did a damn thing to harm their owners. If they had, they would have been stripped for parts quicker than you can say _I’m a real live boy.”_ He drops his hand to his gun, and fixes his gaze on Peter. “We clear about that, son?”

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but it’s Peter who says, “Absolutely, sir. I’d expect nothing less.”

John nods, satisfied, and takes his hand off his firearm. Stiles looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Wait, did you just give Peter a _shovel talk?”_

“I think it’s more of a screwdriver talk in my case,” Peter offers.

The sheriff huffs out a laugh. “Is it always that much of a smartass?”

“Pretty much, yeah. But I promise dad, he's harmless. Don’t – don’t spoil this for me?”

John shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just a bot, right?”

“Absolutely. Nothing but a toaster on steroids,” Stiles agrees, and grins as he hears the indignant huff Peter lets out.

It’s as he’s leaving that John says, “That jumped up toaster seems to make you pretty happy, kid. I'm glad. And Peter? King bed, Lone Star pattern, in blue with yellow highlights, okay?”

“It would be my pleasure, if I could feel such a thing, Sheriff,” Peter replies with a twinkle in his eye, and Stiles just _knows_ that Peter’s already planning the quilt.

 

* * *

 

 

Book five and book six are runaway successes. Stiles delivers Danny his advance copy of book six personally. He takes his bot of course, because it’s a security bot, and Vegas can be a dangerous place. Nobody thinks anything of it.

Danny takes Peter away and services him, Stiles still unwilling to watch. After they emerge, Danny reports that Peter’s in perfect working order, and has possibly become even more of a sarcastic asshole. Stiles laughs and tells him that’s not news to anyone. Danny looks like he’s considering something, and finally he says, “So, you know how I said Peter had circuitry that no bot should have?” Stiles nods. “Friend of mine got a job at Halecorp, and he heard the wildest thing. Apparently, there’s a rumor that goes around about how a couple of years ago, there were some bots made that had an experimental emotional capacity chip fitted by accident.”

“By accident? How the hell could that happen by accident?” Stiles asks.

Danny grins. “Wanna hear the story? It involves tequila.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also there's a sneaky chapter twelve...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE, BITCHES!!

 

This is an origin story.

This is the story of the genesis of the emotional capacity chip in the Halebot model P3Tr that was sold to one Miecyzslaw 'Stiles' Stilinski.

It’s a story about the arrogance of youth, bad ideas born of tequila, and an unfortunate incident with a cleaner.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been a hell of a week. The whole programming department had been scrambling to complete the design of the new personal support bot, and the plans were a thing of beauty. It only seemed right to celebrate, in the opinion of the three younger programmers. This was their first big project together, and it had come together like a dream.

As Dean, the eldest of them, proclaimed over his ninth shot of tequila, “Man, that thing’s so damn smooth. Smooooooooth, man. Soo fucking smooth!”

“Smooooth,” Jim agreed, on his eighth shot. “That thing could pass for human.”

Dean nods drunkenly.“ It really could. It could be a person. I bet we could give it feelings if we wanted.”

The other two laughed at the very suggestion. “You can’t have a sentient bot!” Stuart exclaimed, as he handed round more shots.

Dean waved his hands drunkenly. “No. No, no. But, but. Wait. I’m not saying we _should_ , I’m just saying it’s _possible_.”

The table was silent for a moment, before Jim asked, ”You really think it could be done?”

Dean nodded, with the sort of confidence only shown by the totally wasted. “Easy,” He proclaimed. “I could build the circuitry for it.”

“Bullshit,” Jim said, suddenly uneasy. Drunk or not, this conversation was edging into dangerous territory – sentience had always been the bogeyman as far Personal Support Bots were concerned. Owners didn’t want someone to have an emotional connection with – they wanted something to fuck and forget.

Dean shook his head. “S’not. I drew plans once, wanna see?”  He opened his messenger bag and pulled out his tablet, and well. That was too good for the others to resist. Soon enough the three of them were poring over the file he’d opened, drinks forgotten as they marvelled over the design.

“Holy shit, that would totally work,” Stuart breathed.

“Uh huh, I know, right? I took them to the head of R & D. But nooo, I’m not allowed to use them,” Dean grumbled.

Stuart got a wicked look on his face. His judgement was about as good as Dean’s – he was on his tenth shot. “You should, just, like, add them to the specs.”

Dean snickered. “I totally fucking should. And then, when they work, I’ll put my hand up, and boom, instant promotion! Maybe they’ll give me my own ERI-Kr as a thank you,” he sighed. The blonde bombshell bot had been his go to fantasy ever since he first saw one.

“Hey, it could totally work,” Stuart said, enamoured of the whole idea. “And then Disney will make a movie about us. _The Men Who Gave Bots A Soul_ ” he proclaimed, throwing his arms wide and coming dangerously close to falling off his chair.

Dean looked thoughtful. “I can just send them straight to my office printer right now, and slip them in with the plans tomorrow.”

“ _Do it, do it_ ,” his workmates chanted. Dean grinned, thought _fuck it_ , and pressed the button.

He downed another shot in celebration of his own genius, as somewhere in the Halecorp labs, a new set of specifications for the P3Tr spat out of a printer in his empty office.

* * *

 

 

Dean’s hangover was truly epic the next day, and he squinted at the papers in the printer tray. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and grabbed them before anyone else saw. He couldn’t believe that he’d even _suggested_ adding that circuitry. He’d seen Jurassic Park enough times, okay? The rules were in place for a _reason._ He tossed the papers towards the trash can, but just then his gut gave a lurch, and he bolted out of his office to the restrooms.

He didn’t see the piece of paper land neatly next to the bin.

He didn’t see the cleaner come in to take his trash.

And he didn’t see her look closely at the paperwork for a minute, before deciding she wasn’t going to take the chance on getting sacked for throwing something out by accident.  It looked important, she surmised, and must have blown off the desk.  She placed it on top of the nearest pile of papers, which happened to be the plans for the new line of Halebots, including the P3Tr, the D3R3K, and the C0R -a, due to start production just as soon as the plans were ready.

When Dean got back to his office, he didn’t even look at the papers, just shoved them into the file and delivered them to the head of production.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a few months before the calls started.

“My COR-a begs me not to put her in the storage room, says it gets lonely.”

“My P3Tr didn’t talk to me for two days after I went on a date.”

“My D3R3K was next to me when I watched The Notebook, and it left the room halfway and said it couldn’t take the tension anymore, to just let it know if Noah and Allie end up together.”

Dean fielded a few calls, and a horrible suspicion formed. He pulled up the specs, and there it was, his design, nestled carefully into the circuitry, between sexual function and security.

Fuck.

Dean had no choice but to confess to his superiors. To say they were unhappy was an understatement. Calls were made, owners were reassured, replacements were issued. Some owners, though, refused to take the calls, and others were far too quick to reassure the company that no, nothing wrong with my bot, nothing to see here. ‘ _These are not the droids you are looking for,_ ‘ Dean thought wryly.

There was one poor guy whose bot actually overheated and melted, and Dean didn’t even want to think what must have been happening in the bot’s brain to cause that kind of reaction. He didn’t have much time to contemplate it though, too busy trying to figure out how the plans he threw away ended up in production. There was talk of industrial sabotage, and some pretty hard side eye got sent in the direction of Argent Industries.

In the end though, after interviewing every staff member with access to his office, it finally came out what had happened. The poor woman who’d kept the papers was terrified she’d lose her job, but the Hales were smarter than that. They kept her on, and paid her a generous bonus. They called it a “ _Diligence bonus_ ,” but the woman wasn’t stupid. She knew a “ _We fucked up please don’t tell anyone bonus_ ” when she saw it. She smiled sweetly, took the money and her promotion to Head of Housekeeping, and never said a word.

 

* * *

 

It’s not something that they talk about at Hale Industries.

At least, not unless they’ve had a few drinks.

Or unless there’s a new hire - who just happens to have a fuckbuddy called Danny, and who also happens to be prone to pillow talk.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Danny’s finished his story, Stiles has tears running down his face from laughing so hard. “Man, that’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I know, right?” Danny beams.

Peter’s oddly quiet. Finally, he says, “As they say, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,” and he tangles Stiles’s hand in his own.

Stiles smiles at him fondly. “Yeah, it worked out pretty good. We should go.” He takes Peter’s hand and they stand. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Peter smiles. “I’d like that, actually.”

They end up stopping at a pet store, of all places. Peter’s attention is caught by the pile of plump, squirming  bodies in the window. “Stiles, look.”

Stiles does, and is immediately captivated by the dachshund pups on sale. “Oh my god,” he breathes. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“So, what’s stopping you? You should have whatever makes you happy.” Peter nudges him gently towards the door, even as Stiles shakes his head.

“I don’t have time for a dog. It would be cruel.”

“Hmmm. Yes, I see your problem,” Peter muses, as he beckons the shop assistant over. “If only you had some sort of 24 hour help that could walk and feed and generally take care of the dog for you.” He takes one of the puppies from the girl and places it in Stiles’s arms, where it wags its tail furiously and tries to lick his face. Stiles thinks briefly of all the times he’s wanted a dog, and all the times he’s held back because other people have told him it’s a bad idea.

They told him the same thing about Peter.

Peter, who’s holding another one of the pups and looking completely enraptured. “Hello, little one,” he croons. “Aren’t you adorable?” Stiles watches Peter carefully, sees the unrestrained joy in his face as the pup nibbles his fingertips, and smiles.

* * *

 

 

They call the dog Thor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Neglectedtuesday did this beautiful photoset!  
> 
> 
> Go flail over it [Here!](http://neglectedtuesday.tumblr.com/post/182083409163/puppies-and-programming-steter-bunnywest)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [you'll be fine, baby, i'm in control](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526614) by [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind)




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